


One More Time With Feeling (Good Morning, Night Vale companion)

by Joanne_Lupin



Series: HS!AU Welcome to Night Vale drabbles~ [6]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, So much angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:37:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanne_Lupin/pseuds/Joanne_Lupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After going off his meds, starting junior year, and gaining popularity over the internet, the Desert Bluffs bullies find Cecil's blog and push him over the edge. Rated M because it's the most triggering thing I've ever written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Time With Feeling (Good Morning, Night Vale companion)

**Author's Note:**

> I CANNOT EMPHASIZE ENOUGH HOW TRIGGERING THIS IS. I want people to read my fic, but I also don't want them to experience severe psychological trauma from this. It does have a happy ending, I guess, but seriously I triggered myself writing this so please tread with caution.
> 
> Based off the song of the same name by Regina Spektor which can also be triggering but is such an amazing song and also she's pregnant and that has nothing to do with anything but I'm just really freaking happy about it.
> 
> Also this fic was influenced by an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer called "The Body." It's a subtle thing but I did have it in mind when I was writing and it definitely affected my style. (Which is funny since "The Body" is a show without music and this fic is based on a piece of music.)

It started slowly enough, as these things usually do. 

It was the summer after Cecil’s sophomore year; he felt happy, and that happy feeling persisted enough that he thought it would be okay to stop taking his meds. His therapy was going well, too, though he didn’t bother telling his therapist about the meds. Carlos was making him happy, as was Dana, and, he figured, the bullying back in Desert Bluffs was the only thing that had made the meds necessary in the first place. Taking them now was just costing his parents loads of unnecessary money. So he hid the little, half-full bottle in a rarely-used drawer in his room. 

The ensuing moodiness, Cecil reasoned, was just a sign that he was feeling human again. 

Both Carlos and Dana noticed the change, but whenever one of them brought it up, he brushed it off or changed the subject. It was an easy thing to do; that summer was full of adventure and fun, from trying their first sips of alcohol in the privacy of Dana’s basement to the first of many of Cecil’s radio advertisement gigs to Carlos’ mother’s Mexican cooking, the heat of which had made Cecil turn absolutely purple. 

Cecil’s blog also grew in popularity that summer. People read about his and Carlos’ fictionalized relationship and instantly became obsessed- and his voice didn’t hurt, either. His follower number skyrocketed into the thousands.

But when school started, his happiness dissipated greatly- even within the first week. 

It could have been the increased workload, high expectations, and increased pressure that were, along with the scrutiny of his new online following and the Night Vale radio-listening community, taking a toll on him, but Cecil could only put the blame squarely on his own shoulders. Surely the stress, exhaustion, and withdrawal from his friend and boyfriend were due to his own failure to do the things that came naturally to everyone else. Soon he was skipping lunch to finish his work and staying up all night, taking stock of everything he had to do in the next day, the next week, the next month.

The final straw was different. It was terrifying and dramatic and chilled Cecil’s blood.

Cecil logged on to check on his blog after finishing his homework. It was about eleven at night. 

When he saw the larger-than-usual number of asks in his inbox, Cecil’s heart fluttered with excitement. He loved getting feedback on his blog.

But when he saw what was in his inbox, his heart sank.

What Cecil found was message after message of anonymous hate, from long, incoherent demands for him to kill himself to single, derogatory words.

Cecil felt sick. He knew immediately, automatically, who the messages were from: his old bullies at Desert Bluffs.

Everything came crashing down on him at once. He was suddenly so sure that things would never change. The bullies would find him no matter where he went, making his life hell. He’d never be free; he’d always be the faggot who wrote creepy stories no one really liked and sucked at school and hid from his friends. 

With shaking hands, he made a new blog post.

“I will be taking an indefinite hiatus from writing. I’m sorry.”

Then he wrote two notes, scribbling them quickly onto notebook paper. The first was for Dana, thanking her for her friendship and telling her she’d never have to worry about him again. The second was for Carlos, telling him he loved him, apologizing for his distance, and calling him “perfect” one last time. 

Cecil’s aunt didn’t own a gun; he hated the idea of her coming home from poker to see his body, immediately visible, in the oven; there wasn’t anything high enough for him to hang himself on; and he’d read that an Advil overdose was a terribly painful way to go. So he decided that the box cutter in the garage was the way to go. 

He locked himself in the bathroom, hoping that the blood wouldn’t stain anything in the tiled room. 

From the time he’d seen the messages, he’d been surprisingly calm aside from his trembling fingers. Now, as he held the box cutter in his hands and thought of the absolute failure that he was sure made up his whole life, his breath came in gasps. He was nervous, but he knew that, soon, it would be over. 

It would all be over.

-o0o-

At a little after eleven, Dana checked her Tumblr. She scrolled for a little bit, reblogging the occasional post, before she came to one from Cecil’s blog.

“Indefinite hiatus?” She repeated, a tiny knot of worry forming in her belly. She clicked over to Cecil’s blog, but saw no other clues that explained the cryptic update. 

When he’d first started the blog, Cecil had given Dana his login information, “just in case” she needed it. She used it now, and a rush of comprehension, followed almost immediately by dread, came over her.

Flashbacks of that night, ages ago, when a similar scene had played out threatened to consume Dana’s mind as she dialed Cecil’s cell. He didn’t answer.

“Cecil? Cecil, please pick up. Oh, god, Ceec, pick up. Please, please pick up your phone. Oh, god. I’m gonna call someone. Please be okay, Ceec. I- oh, god.”

Near tears, Dana dialed Carlos and sprinted out of her door, forgetting her shoes. Carlos picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, Dana, what’s-”

“I think Cecil’s in trouble. I’m going to his house right now, but he didn’t answer his phone and the bullies from Desert Bluffs found his blog and I’m really worried.”

“No. No, he can’t be- maybe he’s, I dunno, listening to music or- or taking a shower or something. And he- he didn’t hear your phone.” Even through his denial, Dana could hear Carlos’ car keys jingling. He shouted something in Spanish to his mother and, seconds later, started his car.

“I’m there. I’ll call you back or… something…”

“I’m coming.” Carlos’ voice was weak and watery and small.

Dana burst through the unlocked front door and headed straight for her best friend’s room. “CECIL?” she shouted. But the door to his room was ajar and two pieces of notebook paper lay neatly on his bed. 

Her heart racing, Dana ran across the hallway to check the closet, then down the hall to check Cecil’s aunt’s room. Finally, she came to the bathroom at the end of the hall. It was locked. She pulled a bobby pin from her pocket, planning to unlock the door, but her hands were shaking so badly that she dropped the pin. She threw her weight against the door once, twice, three times, until it gave way and she toppled into the tiny room, straight onto her best friend.

She squirmed away, looking at Cecil. His eyes were nearly closed under the lenses of his glasses and his chest was just barely moving. He was pale and propped up against the edge of the tub, his right arm flung over the side. Dana dialed frantically.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“My friend- he’s passed out, I think, and he’s really pale, and I think h-he tried to- to kill himself.” Dana spoke through soundless, tearless sobs that wracked her body.

“Okay, sweetie, I can see where you’re calling from through your cell phone signal; I’m sending an ambulance right now, okay? Is your friend breathing?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he is. B-but it’s really- really shallow.”

“Okay. Can you tell me how he tried to kill himself?” The operator said it so calmly. It made Dana a little angry, as if the lady on the phone didn’t care that her friend’s life was ebbing away. But she swallowed her anger and peeked over the edge of the tub to see what she’d missed before: two huge, gaping gashes spanning Cecil’s entire forearm. Dana gagged. “Miss?” the operator asked.

“Sorry, I just- I just saw the b-” Dana whimpered “the blood. He cut himself- uh, his arm. Forearm. Oh, god, Cecil…”

“Honey, I need you to do something for me, okay? It could help your friend.”

“Okay,” Dana replied shakily.

“Do you have a shoelace on you?”

“No. No, I forgot shoes.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. What about your friend? Does he have shoelaces on him?”

Silently thanking anything she could think of for Cecil’s constant dedication to looking fashionable, she tugged a lace away from the shoes he was wearing. “I have one.”

“Good. Now, tie the lace as tightly as you can around the arm that’s bleeding, just above his elbow?”

Dana could hear Carlos’ panicked cry from the front door. “I’m- we’re in here!” she called. “Sorry, uh, I called someone else when I thought- anyway, he’s here. Can you talk to him? I need to-”

“Cecil?” Carlos cried again as he slid into the room. The second syllable was cut off in a choked sob as he saw the scene unfolding in the bathroom. 

“I’ll talk to him. You do what I said. Everything will be fine, okay?”

“Okay,” Dana whispered, not sure she could even be heard. “Carlos? Talk to the 911 lady, okay?” She turned to see that Carlos had sunk to his knees, his arms wrapped around himself and rocking back and forth. Dana slid the phone across the foot of tile floor between them and grabbed the shoelace resolutely. She held back another heave at the sight of the blood and tied the emergency tourniquet as tightly as she could. She could hear a siren in the distance. Carlos hadn’t picked up the phone, so Dana grabbed it. “Hello?”

“I’m here, hun.”

“I did what you said. I hope it’s tight enough. I pulled really hard. Carlos is stronger than me, but he’s not-”

“What’s your name, sweetie?” The sirens were getting louder.

“Dana.”

“Dana, can you and your other friend leave the room so the paramedics have more room to work?”

“Do you want us to move him? It’s really tight in here…”

“No, don’t move him. Just make room for the paramedics, okay?”

“Okay.” The sirens stopped, and Dana heard voices from outside. “Come on, Carlos, we need to go.” Carlos stood up, wobbling, and seemed to float down the hall. Dana rushed to the entryway to show the paramedics where Cecil was. “They’re here now,” she told the operator.

“Are you okay by yourself now?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“I’m going to hang up, then. Take care.”

“Thank you.” Dana hung up. The paramedics had put Cecil on a stretcher. While the others hurried out, one stayed behind.

“Your friend should be okay. We’re going to take him to the hospital. He’ll definitely need stitches and a blood transfusion. Do you know if he was on any medication?”

“I think he told me that he took, uh, Zoloft. Or something.”

“Thank you. When you can make it, I’ll try to be sure you can visit him in the hospital.”

“Can you let Carlos in, too? He’s Cecil’s boyfriend.”

“Sure. Everything’s going to be fine, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Dana went to look for Carlos. She found him in Cecil’s room, reading one of the pieces of paper and crying quietly. “What does it say?” she murmured.

Carlos thrust the note into her hand. “There’s one for you, too, but I didn’t read it.”

“Go ahead, if you want.”

Carlos nodded, but made no move to grab the other piece of paper. Dana read.

_“Carlos,_

_“I want to start off by saying that I love you. I really do. I know I’ve been distant lately, and I’m sorry for that. But even then, I loved you. You’re perfect. You deserve so much better than a weirdo freak like me._

_“Love, Cecil”_

Dana looked up at Carlos when she’d finished. He was still crying. “Was I why?” he whimpered, looking at her with huge, imploring eyes. “Was I the reason he-?”

“What? Of course not!” Dana sat down next to Carlos. 

“But he said-”

“No, Carlos, you stop that right now.” She rubbed Carlos’ back in small circles. “It was the Desert Bluffs kids. I saw their messages, Carlos. They were awful.”

Carlos nodded, still crying. “He’ll be okay, won’t he?”

“I think so. That’s what they all said…” Dana stared into space for a moment. “You should’ve talked to the 911 lady. She was nice.”

Carlos didn’t reply.

At that moment, Cecil’s aunt entered the open door. “Cecil? Why is the door open?”

“Oh, no,” Dana moaned. “Okay… I can go tell her. Carlos, can you run the water in the tub? To drain the- the-”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Dana entered the living room to see Cecil’s aunt happily searching the fridge. She looked up. “Oh, hi, Dana, what are you doing here?”

“Uh, hi, Mayra. I, actually, um…” Tears started to fall and Dana gripped the island in front of her for support, her knuckles turning pale.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Mara asked, forgetting her search to support Dana.

“It’s Cecil. He… There was an incident. He tried to- to kill himself. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I called Carlos and he’s here now and then I called 911 when I found him and it was really hectic after that and I’m so sorry, oh god…”

“Is he okay?”

“I think so. The paramedics took him away. I’m sorry.”

Mara wrapped Dana in a tight hug. “Dana, thank you so much for looking after him. You don’t need to be sorry. You did what you had to do.” Then she, too, started to cry. They stood for a moment, crying in each other’s arms. Carlos roused them.

“I wanna see him,” he said firmly. “You can come with me or not, but I need to go.”

“I don’t have shoes,” Dana whimpered.

“Take a pair of mine, if you want,” Mara offered. She ran to her room and returned with a pair of flip-flops that were a little too big, but that would work for the moment. Dana thanked her, and then they were all off in Carlos’ car.

-o0o-

The first thing Cecil was really aware of was a faint light. _Hm… Not as bright as I thought… Unless I’m in Hell… Guess they were right after all…_ His hypothesis was supported by the next thing he was aware of: a pain in his right arm that went down to the bone. Next came sounds- strange, garbled words that seemed to come from the end of a tunnel.

“Is he… smiling?”

“I dunno, but I definitely saw him twitch. He’s gotta be waking up.”

“Cecil? Cecil, can you hear me? Please, please wake up.”

Cecil blinked, searching for the source of the voices. His thoughts were cloudy and sluggish, but the beeping next to him and the familiar smell were stirring up something.

“See? I told you he’s blinking! He’s waking up!”

“Cecil?”

No. Oh, no. He was alive. Someone had found him and now he was in the hospital and he was alive and he’d failed again.

“Did he say something?”

“It sounded like it.”

Cecil groaned- again apparently. His eyes focused on the faces around him: his aunt Mara, then Dana, and finally, gripping his left hand, Carlos. He wondered who had found him.

“Cecil!” Dana shouted, smiling through a tear-stained face.

“Oh, god, Ceec!” Carlos moaned, gripping his hand tighter and pulling it to his chest.

Cecil pulled away, trying not to feel guilty about the look on Carlos’ face as he did so. His emotions weren’t easily expressed in his groggy state, but he got his point across. “Let me go. Now. I wanna go,” he garbled, scratching at the bandages cementing his IV and blood transfusion in place. “I didn’t want this. I don’t want to be here. Let me leave.” His face was wet with tears from his anger and frustration and from the pain coursing through his arm.

“You don’t mean that, Cecil,” Mara said gently.

“No, I do!” He was gaining strength and actually making progress at the bandages. He screamed as loud as he could, “I do mean it, I wanna go, I wanna leave, I WANNA BE DEAD. I SHOULD BE DEAD RIGHT NOW. WHO GAVE ANY OF YOU THE FUCKING RIGHT?”

Dana screamed back, her voice desperate. “Stop, Cecil, _please,_ stop.”

Doctors rushed in and pressed buttons, Cecil shouting abuse at them until he grew sleepy and slipped away.

-o0o-

When he next woke up, things came into focus much more clearly. It was morning, but early, by the look of the sun shining through the blinds. Everyone was still there, asleep in chairs. His parents were there, too.

Cecil looked around. There were more hospital beds in the room, but it seemed they were all empty. Someone had brought him a balloon. On his left arm, new bandages kept life-sustaining equipment in place. On the other side, even more bandages encircled his entire forearm. Someone spoke, and he started.

“They had to put stitches in. You cut really deep.”

 _Dana._ “I’m so so-”

“Don’t apologize yet, Cecil, because I don’t think you understand what you’re apologizing for.” Her voice was low and steady, angrier than Cecil had heard it in a long time. “Do you know?

“I’m sorry I made you worry about me. And I’m sorry I screamed at you guys last night.”

“No, you don’t get it. I don’t care that you screamed last night. I get it. You were upset. And you should _never_ be sorry that I worry about you, Cecil. I always worry about you. It’s my job. No… You should be sorry because you didn’t _tell me_ you were feeling like that. I could’ve helped you. I could’ve kept you safe. And even if I couldn’t have… at least I would’ve been able to say goodbye.” The anger dissipated until Dana’s voice was stripped down and raw; she might have cried if she hadn’t been all cried out.

All Cecil could say was, “Oh.”

Dana sat down heavily in the chair at his left side- the one Carlos had occupied the night before. “Did you even think about me? About Carlos? Mara? Your parents?”

“I thought about you, yeah,” Cecil replied bitterly. “I thought about how much better off you’d be once I was gone.”

“Don’t ever think that, Cecil. I need you around for a long, long time.”

Cecil fiddled with the hospital blanket, even as he heard footsteps come near him.

“I already gave him a tongue-lashing. You do your worst,” Dana said, leaving the room and muttering something about coffee. 

“Cecil…” It was Carlos. Of course it was Carlos. Cecil looked around and saw that, somehow, they were alone.

“I bet I look like shit,” Cecil blurted out, at a loss for what to say.

“No, you look perfect. You always look perfect.”

“That’s my thing for you. I’m neat, remember?”

“You remember that?”

“Vaguely.”

Carlos laughed. There was something off about it, though, and Cecil knew full well he was the reason why.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.”

That made Cecil look up. “How can you be sorry? I’m the one who caused so much trouble. You didn’t sign up for that.”

“Cecil, I signed up for _you_. And that means that I should’ve known that you were feeling bad. I could’ve helped.”

“No, Carlos, please don’t blame yourself.”

Carlos reached for Cecil’s hand. Cecil let him.

“I love you, too. I didn’t get a chance to say it to you back when you- when you wrote it… But I do. And that means that, no matter what, I’m gonna be there to wonder what I could’ve done when something goes wrong…” Cecil smiled weakly at that and let himself grip Carlos’ hand back. “You know, I didn’t even think anything was wrong until Dana called me. I need to step up my game.”

“Wait… Why did Dana call you?”

“She saw your Tumblr post, I guess. And she called you, but you didn’t answer.” Cecil made a mental note to delete that voicemail. “So she ran to your house and she broke the door down. She even called 911. I was a useless sack of shit.”

“Don’t say that, please.” Cecil shook his head, trying to shake this information into alignment. 

“But you’re allowed to call yourself a weirdo freak?” Something sharp entered Carlos’ tone.

“Because I am. I’m all that and worse. You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me, please. Tell me why you’d ever want to throw away your life like that.”

“You wanna know why?” Cecil fixed Carlos with a miserable stare that Carlos couldn’t meet. “I’ll tell you why. Because I will never be good enough. I’m never gonna get into a good college or even finish this fucking year. I’m never gonna be able to get my shit together as an adult. I’m never gonna be some famous guy who produces good stuff consistently. And here’s the great part- even if I do, there’s still gonna be a huge fucking group of dickwads calling me ‘fag.’ I am _never_ going to be free of that. So why fucking try?”

There was a long silence. Then Carlos leaned forward and kissed Cecil’s forehead. “Try for me,” he whispered. “Try for Dana. And try for the kid who’s gonna feel just like you in a few years. Because that kid’s gonna see you. He’s gonna see how far you’ve come. And he’s not gonna do what you tried to do. And then, maybe one day, the world will be a little bit kinder because _you_ set the example.”

Cecil was crying. “I love you. I love you so much. Oh my god, Carlos, how could I have ever tried to leave you?”

“Just don’t do it again.”

“I won’t, I promise. I’m sorry. I love you. C’mere.” Cecil pulled Carlos close by his shirt and kissed him full on the mouth, murmuring “I love you” or “I’m sorry” each time they broke apart. Eventually, when they were tired of kissing, Carlos crawled into the right side of bed, careful not to hurt Cecil’s stitches, and they drifted off to sleep together.


End file.
